How to Be a NonTraditional Hero
by Soyokaze
Summary: Yup. FINALLY.


Yes, I have indeed jumped on the HTTYD bandwagon. It's a fantastic movie, what can I say.

It's been a long time since I posted anything. Wow.

How to Be a (Non-Traditional) Hero

by Soyokaze

Stoick the Vast was not an uncompassionate Viking. His name might imply as much, but the way he cared for his impossibly impetuous son suggested otherwise. As undeniably frustrating as raising a child so unlike himself, so unlike his father's and clan's expectations for him, and so– _different_– could be, Stoick had done all he could to steer his son toward what he thought was his destined place among the tribe, without so much as a negative comment- well, maybe a _few_ complaints- about his son's not-entirely-right-for-clan-chief-but-amazing-in-the-smithy walk of life. He had never in all his days thought that he would be the father of the boy who saved their entire tribe, the Dragon-Tamer, the first rider, and the warrior who had– in tandem with a _Night Fury_– taken down a horrifying monstrosity of a reptile that was nearly the size of their homeland. He had saved them all.

Stoick couldn't have been prouder if Hiccup had carried Berk on his back to a warmer climate.

And he had never, never, _ever_ thought he would be seeing a picture like the one currently before his eyes.

At the head of the boat, Hiccup, pale and motionless, lay covered by his father's thick furs. Curled around him was an exhausted Night Fury– Toothless, Stoick reminded himself. The other teens, equally drained from their monumental battle and subsequent clean-up, lay near him, propped against the boat's rails or draped across the feet of the others, sound asleep. The teens' ability to just nonchalantly accept the extraordinary events that had just occurred before them– and none of the tales passed down by their tribe's elders were half as remarkable as the battle they had just participated in– was something Stoick was betting the rest of his tribe wished they possessed. Half of the Vikings had unusually pensive looks on their faces, while the other half were trying to pierce the Night Fury's– _Toothless's_– hide with their gazes. They just didn't know what to make of it.

After the battle was over, and the typical short battle cheer concluded, Stoick had left Hiccup to Gobber's care– not without reluctance– and assessed the situation and its most obvious difficulty, how to return a legion of Vikings back to their homeland without a legion's-worth of boats. Only a small number of boats remained intact, and only a fraction of those had sea-worthy sails. Stoick immediately set to delegation; one group to piece together the remains of the torn and burned sails into something they could use; another to build rafts from the scrapped boats to be attached to the usable ones.

Snotlout– in a rare display of common sense– had chosen this moment to suggest that some of them could fly back on the multitude of dragons, though only a handful had volunteered when Fishlegs had stepped forward to show them how to "become dragon-riders." He had limited success– it seemed only the Gronkles and the occasional Zippleback would respond to him– but it sufficed to deplete their numbers enough for the ships and rough-hewn rafts to suffice. Those returning on the dragons' backs were given strict instructions on how to prepare for Hiccup's care. Then Stoick, his tribe somber but busy, felt he could turn back to his only son and the dragon that had saved them all.

Toothless hadn't the strength to fend off Gobber's approach, and realized he wouldn't have wanted to when the man began removing the charred, melted, contorted metal mess that once allowed he and Hiccup to own the skies.

"We'll make ye another one," he coaxed, giving the dragon a pat between the ears, before examining the bit of hardware more closely and remarking to Stoick that his son was an "out'n'out genius." Gobber seemed to share the children's penchant for change; killing dragons or keeping dragons, he could adapt. The dragon's expressive eyes seemed to beam gratefulness, but only briefly, for his attention was quickly captured by his rider. Toothless was content with placing his nose near Hiccup's head and occasionally nuzzle his matted hair.

Stoick had approached his son, unchallenged by the Night Fury, he was pleased to note, and removed the thick fur from his shoulders. Hiccup was white, and limp, but still breathing, his heart still beating. Stoick knew that while his son's musculature might have been lacking, his will was like steel. Hiccup would pull through. As he wrapped his son in the fur, he inspected Gobber's handiwork. The flesh had been completely seared from his lower leg; only a small segment of bone had remained where a calf muscle and shin had once protruded from Hiccup's knee. Gobber had unceremoniously shorn that with a campfire-heated axe, and then somewhat crudely bandaged the remaining dome-shaped stump, which had been thankfully, if somewhat imprecisely, cauterized by the raging fireball that had almost killed him.

And he still slept.

Of course no one had objected to Stoick insisting on Hiccup riding in the same boat as his father. No one had said a word when all of the children wanted to ride with him as well. And Stoick's stern countenance was enough to discourage any disparagement as the– as Toothless shuffled his way lazily to the head of the boat and took up his post as guard once more.

And here they were. Crippled boats gently limping their way back to Berk, a colorful cloud of their former enemies as escorts. Asleep, thoughtful, or wary; those three words described almost every single Viking Stoick could see, with the exception of two.

One was his friend Gobber. Gobber had surreptitiously taken up a post near Stoick's injured son as soon as they had disembarked. Gobber's cheerful demeanor had only dulled a bit; he knew that the boy wouldn't die, but he knew the pain in store for him. Stoick knew that Gobber considered Hiccup a kind of surrogate son, and he also knew that the stick-thin Viking would be appreciative of the support in coming months.

The other was Astrid Hofferson.

Stoick knew the girl was drained. The tired circles under her eyes belied her calm strength. Nevertheless, she refused to give in to sleep. Her intense eyes were focused exclusively on Hiccup. Occasionally, she would brush away the stubborn bits of short hair that kept hanging in her face, but otherwise, she stayed completely still. Stoick was afraid her eyes might burn holes in his son's head.

Brains might not have been the most valued trait among his people (hopefully Hiccup's unusual brand of strength would now change that), but Stoick the Vast was not a dim man. The change in Astrid's behavior with regard to his son had not gone unnoticed, and neither had the way her eyes watched him as of late. With respect, with care, and with something a little more. He took advantage of the quiet moments of the voyage– between the tribe's need for his assurance and their need for his instruction– to address her.

Astrid didn't even move when the tribe Chief placed a hand to her shoulder.

"He's going to pull through this, my dear," Stoick began quietly, his son's pallor threatening to dampen his quietly soothing tone, "I have no doubt of that. You should take a rest. You lot have done more than enough."

Astrid's hands tightened where they formed fists atop her knees. She said something quietly, before her voice caught in her throat. Stoick waited for her to collect herself, and, as he knew the stalwart girl would, she repeated her reply with a steady voice.

"I know he'll pull through. I just want to be there when his eyes open."

Simple, blunt, and insistent; pure Astrid. Her eyes hadn't left Hiccup's face.

"I know how you feel, lassie."

With that and a meaningful glance towards his ever-present brother-in-arms, he settled down next to the girl to wait until either his son or his tribe needed him.

As if reacting to the huge weight of his father settling next to him, Hiccup's eyelids lazily lifted. Stoick felt the relief radiating from the girl next to him as green eyes rolled their way. It was obvious the boy wasn't more than half-awake, although Stoick was surprised he was capable of waking at all, with the shock his body had gone through. One of Astrid's hands immediately shot out and grabbed one of his. His waking drew the attention of nearby passengers, and while their eyes watched, they respectfully did not approach.

"Astrid," his son said softly. Then his eyes rested on his father, and looked puzzled. "Dad." A pause. Then, plainly, "Dad, I'm sorry."

Stoick's eyes widened, and then he thought guiltily back to the conversation they'd had prior to their departure. The man placed a huge hand over the two the children clasped together, with his gravest expression.

"Son, you have absolutely _nothing_ to apologize for."

Hiccup looked confused again.

"Oh."

Stoick and Astrid both were startled when the young Viking's body suddenly arched in pain, and his grip on Astrid's hand tightened. Hiccup hissed and grunted, obviously feeling the discomfort of his missing limb. Gobber made a move towards the trio, but the pain subsided as quickly as it had come. Hiccup settled back into half-wakefulness.

"My foot . . . it feels . . . funny," he stated simply, as if nothing at all had occurred. Stoick brushed some of the long hair from his son's face, suddenly regretful at how his thick fingers dwarfed his son's diminutive features. Hiccup's violent reaction had drawn the attention of the Night Fury, who raised his snout and snorted into his rider's auburn hair. A soft smile spread across the young Viking's face.

"Hey, buddy," came the soft salutation, as Hiccup slowly raised the hand not claimed by Astrid to Toothless's nose. "You okay?"

The dragon leaned gently into the touch. Stoick felt a smile on his face, despite himself. Satisfied, Toothless let his head rest upon the deck again, so close to his rider that every slight breath disturbed the furs protecting Hiccup from the chilled fog. The boy's hand lowered, and then that dazed look came over him once more, before the most surprising thing of all.

Hiccup began to laugh.

It was only as merry as he could manage in his state, but it was still clear and somewhat ironic laughter. Stoick's eyebrows knit as he wondered briefly if his son had contracted fever madness, while Astrid simply cocked her head. The laughter lasted after a few moments, after which Hiccup focused torpidly on his father. The last words from his mouth as he slipped back into unconsciousness were all but a breath.

"I . . .actually _. . ._ killed a dragon."

His head fell against Toothless's scaly black nose, and his eyes slid closed. Stoick quickly leaned his head to the boy's chest to make sure his heart was still beating, before he realized just what his son's final sentence had been. He and Astrid slowly met each other's haggard glances, until those last words pierced the tension like a knife and a flood of emotion was released.

All the Vikings from their boat– and neighboring ones– turned to stare as Astrid Hofferson and Stoick the Vast shared a bellow of laughter.

For all his heroics– befriending a Night Fury and enabling it to fly again, becoming the first dragon-rider, defying years of tradition, to say nothing of the mocking and harassment and his father's harsh chastisement, saving his entire people from certain death, and showing their clan a new way of life and assuring a future of peace with the beasts with whom they once warred– for all of this, one thing was certain.

Hiccup had _finally_ killed a dragon.

Hope you enjoyed it! By the way, before you say it, I know the way I described the whole losing-of-the-leg is ridiculous. I wrote this really fast. No research time ^_^


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